


Morning Sex and Revelations

by boxparade



Series: All Our Yesterdays: The Codas [4]
Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marriage, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:26:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxparade/pseuds/boxparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin, and then some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Sex and Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> A scene from the early years of Brendon and Spencer's marriage in [All Our Yesterdays](), pre-Marine Corps, pre-kids.

Brendon wakes up warm. Of all the things he remembers about that day, it was this one fact that always hit him first. He wakes up warm, and there’s sunlight streaking in through the windows, and the whole room smells like them and home.

He doesn’t know what time it is, just that’s it’s early enough for Spencer to still be asleep next to him, and it’s late enough that the crisp, cool blues of the early-morning light have long been replaced with warmer, softer tones.

He doesn’t move, just opens his eyes to stare up at the ceiling, letting his mind drift into the waking world as peacefully as he’d drifted to sleep the night before. There are days where it’s a shock to find Spencer next to him, to realize that this is their apartment and their life and by some spectacular accident, miracle, fluke, Spencer is his _husband._ Today is not one of those days.

He rolls over, trying not to jostle the bed too much, because Spencer is right there next to him, face smashed into the pillow, hair sticking up at odd angles. He keeps talking about growing a beard, which Brendon is never going to let him do, despite his futile attempts at skipping shaving every so often—it’s one of those mornings where he has way more than just the usual overnight stubble.

Brendon doesn’t really mind, though. Not as much as he’s pretending he does, anyway. Spencer’s kind of cute with a bit of scruff, though he’ll never admit to it. Brendon can only see half his face with how he’s laying, spread out on his stomach, but Spencer looks like he’s pretty content. Which is good, considering that it would probably mean Brendon is a shitty husband, if Spencer were looking stressed-out and miserable.

Brendon has been watching Spencer sleep for a good ten minutes when Spencer finally opens his eyes with a yawn. He reaches a hand up to scrub over his features, and then says, hidden behind his hand, “You’re being a creep again.”

Brendon purses his lips and glares at Spencer long enough for him to see it. “Am not,” he argues, and then smiles when Spencer does. “I just like watching you sleep, is that so weird?”

“Yes,” Spencer answers without hesitation. Brendon just rolls his eyes and moves a little closer, hooking one leg over Spencer’s, still warm and soft underneath the covers. He loves Spencer like this, still foggy from sleep, slow enough that he doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed when Brendon wraps around him like a sea monster, clingy and limbs flying everywhere.

He runs a hand down Spencer’s side, sweeps over his belly even though Brendon knows he hates that.

Spencer always flushes when Brendon tells him, all the damn time, that he likes Spencer like this. “You’re like a tootsie pop,” Brendon once said with a pointy grin, “you’re all hard and down-to-business on the outside, but you’ve got a gooey, chocolaty center.” Then Brendon had proceeded to poke at Spencer’s stomach and he’d gotten tied to the bed and left there for the rest of the day while Spencer taunted him with pop-tarts and sex he wasn’t getting.

He’s a bit better about it now, which is why he just raises an eyebrow at Brendon when his hand lingers just a bit longer than usual, but he forgets all about it the moment Brendon’s fingers slide beneath the elastic of his boxers.

“What, you wake up hard again?” Spencer asks, completely cool, calm, and collected, and that’s totally not fair. So what if Brendon had, anyway? It’s not like Spencer isn’t getting anything out of it, and besides, it’s a Saturday and they don’t have anywhere to be. Not to mention, they’ve been married three years today. Brendon thinks Spencer should really be a bit more excited about this whole morning-sex thing.

“Is that all I am to you?” Spencer goes on, grinning. Yeah, he’s extra cocky today—pun intended. “A sex toy?” Brendon resolves right then to stop this rant before it gets going. “Something to keep your enormous sexual appetite sated? Because I could probably buy you some toys that would do the trick, maybe give myself a vacation from all this— _fuck._ ”

Brendon grins, triumphant, and stills his hand until Spencer looks up at him, glaring. Brendon lets him pretend he’s the one with all the power here for about five more seconds, and then he twists his hand around, dry, but they’re just teasing. Spencer makes a desperate sound.

“You gonna stop talking so I can get on with this, or what?” Brendon asks, keeping his hand perfectly still and waiting for Spencer’s answer.

He holds out pretty damn long, for someone that’s at risk of blue balls and a slightly pissed-off husband for the rest of the day. “Fine,” Spencer says, reluctantly, and Brendon grins. “I hate you,” he adds on just as Brendon pulls his hand out of Spencer’s boxers so he can lick a stripe up his hand.

“You love me,” Brendon responds easily, and moments later he’s sucking his own fingers into his mouth, smiling around them, being a tease because he knows it gets to Spencer. “Clothes. Off. Now.”

“Bossy,” Spencer says, but does as he’s told. Brendon wastes no time reaching back down for Spencer, wet and slippery. Spencer just keeps on glaring at him the whole time, but Brendon’s not worried. He knows more than a few ways to get Spencer chanting his name. He’s been married to this idiot for three years, after all.

It takes damn longer than it should to get Spencer fully hard, but right about the time Brendon starts to get a little desperate and rub himself off against Spencer’s thigh (because Spencer is an asshole that’s been trying to make Brendon do all the work) he perks up. Then Spencer reaches down to reciprocate, finally, and from then on, it goes pretty damn quick—embarrassingly so. Spencer ends up coming first, and Brendon has maybe three seconds to smirk triumphantly before Spencer uses his own come to slick Brendon up, and then Brendon is whining helplessly against Spencer’s neck and shaking as he comes.

It’s a sticky, disgusting mess between them, and they both have horrible morning breath, but they don’t even try to move.

They’re still laying a boneless mess minutes later, and their breathing had just slowed down back to a normal rate when Spencer goes and rips the sky wide open, because today is just one of those days. It couldn’t just be one of those days where they have fantastic morning sex, and they spend their three year anniversary together in bed all day, fucking each other senseless. No.

Instead, it has to be one of those days that starts off totally awesome, like the whole day is going to be filled with lots more awesome sex, and then Spencer gets this idea in his head and suddenly everything turns upside-down, and Brendon spends the rest of the day scrambling to catch up, or maybe just figure out where he’s supposed to land.

And because today is one of those days, Spencer’s little bomb-shell hits just as Brendon’s going to suggest round two, and it effectively kills any chance Brendon had at more sex at any point, for the rest of the day.

“I want kids.”

He _what?_ This is—no, no, okay, Brendon heard him wrong. Because did Spencer just say— _what?_

“What?”

“Kids,” Spencer repeats, slowly, like Brendon’s slow. Which, you know, maybe when it comes to shit like this, he is. “Miniature human beings, you know. Adults usually have them, and then there’s a lot of screaming and crying and being baffled, and in the end the kids turn out fine no matter how much the parents fucked up raising them. That sort of thing. I want that.”

“I—” Brendon starts, then stops. “You want—this—it—I— _kids._ You—”

“Yes, Brendon,” Spencer sighs, exasperated, and Brendon feels Spencer’s chest moving beneath him. “Me. And you. Brendon and Spencer. And kids. _Our_ kids.”

“Our kids,” Brendon parrots, deadpan, still reeling.

“Yes.”

“You,” he states, pulling back and staring at Spencer’s amused expression with wide eyes. “Me. _Children._ I—you mean—this— _kids?”_ He thinks his voice threatens to break the sound barrier with that pitch. “Us. With kids. Us raising _children,_ and—and you—kids?”

Spencer rolls his eyes, and Brendon thinks he is being way too blasé about this whole thing. “Yeah, Bren. Kids. Us.” He waits, watching Brendon, to see if it clicks. It doesn’t. “I want to start a family with you.”

And that—that really can’t be misinterpreted, can it? And it hits Brendon like a fucking stone wall, knocking the breath out of him, because Spencer wants—he’s saying—a _family._

He’s telling Brendon that he wants a family. Together. He wants them to be a family, with them, and with _kids_ , and not just—oh, god. Not just _a kid,_ no, kids. Plural. _Multiple_ tiny human beings, that rely entirely upon them for everything, that work themselves into every aspect of their lives _forever._ He’s saying that he wants that. With Brendon.

Oh, Jesus Christ, it’s too damn early in the morning for this.

Brendon looks at Spencer again. And maybe it’s the sunlight, the warmth of it, the way it highlights the tip of his nose, or the apple of his cheek, or the strand of hair sticking up over his forehead. But he’s just watching Brendon, open and raw and vulnerable, blue eyes and the echo of a smile still playing at the corner of his lips, his eyes.

And Brendon can’t help but remember all of him, every Spencer he’s ever known. The awkward seventeen-year-old that blushed and dropped his sticks the moment Brendon first walked into the practice room, like they were in some cheesy teen romance (and maybe they were.) The Spencer from their band-days, living out of Brendon’s mom’s old van, touring from city to city, begging bars and clubs to give them a slot. He wore a lot of tight shirts and pink back then, and his face was all smooth and his hair was long, and he kind of looked like a girl but he was still strong enough to hold Brendon against the wall and kiss him in front of everyone.

Then there’s the Spencer from their wedding day, in worn-out jeans and a ratty old band T-shirt, punch-drunk and smiling like they were on top of the world. Only Ryan, Jon, and the judge who was officiating were there to see it, but Brendon doesn’t think Spencer’s ever been so beautiful, and it still floors him to realizes he’s as much in love now as he was then.

And Spencer is still just as gorgeous, and just as amazing, and he’s still watching Brendon with open eyes, waiting. He’s waiting for Brendon to—He’s _asking._ He’s asking Brendon, not just… He’s not just telling Brendon that this is what he wants. He’s asking. Asking if it’s okay, if Brendon wants this too, if they can do this, if they can really—

“Christ,” he breathes, and Spencer’s façade of indifference cracks just a tiny bit. “You really—okay,” he redirects immediately, because as much as he’s trying to hide it, Brendon can tell. Spencer is scared, unsure, bearing his whole being to Brendon and waiting to see what Brendon does with it. He’s not going to break Spencer over this. Not something like this, even if he’s not sure if he wants—but he does.

It’s like a punch to the gut for him, then, too. Because he realizes, abruptly, that he _wants this._ He really does. He wants to have this, with Spencer. He wants their lives to be worth something more, he wants to be responsible for giving the world something new, unique, amazing. He wants to watch their kids grow up to be happy and amazing and brilliant. He wants this as much as he wanted to marry Spencer, back when everything was shiny and bright and kind of new. When they were so in love that none of it mattered, so they just drove up to Canada and walked into the city hall in Montreal, and got married.

“Okay,” he repeats, confidently this time. “Okay.”

And Spencer smiles like Brendon just handed him the moon, the sun, the stars, the whole damn universe. “Yeah?” He questions, and Brendon grins despite himself.

“Yeah,” he says, and kisses Spencer with the sunlight wrapped around them.


End file.
